


homeward

by EllsterSMASH



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, OC Kiss Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllsterSMASH/pseuds/EllsterSMASH
Summary: For OC Kiss Week 2020; Makon belongs tobearlytolerable!
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 4





	1. 1

A wayward thought. Makon's lips around a bottle of moonshine—Kelya's best batch so far—then he winces and shakes his head and hands it back to her and says something and she nods. But her mind is fixed on  _ I really think that maybe I should kiss him. _

How ridiculous. They've only just met. He's leaving in the morning and she doesn’t get to go, and she knows next to nothing about him. Except that he's apparently older than he looks. Like, very old. Like, ancient. Doesn't look it for damn sure, but shit, he probably thinks she's just a nosy kid. Deshanna certainly wouldn't have said much to change his mind.

Then like the sun breaking free of a brief cloud cover, the moment lifts and he turns away to accept a honeyed fig from a passing tray.

_ How ridiculous _ , and she keeps her eyes on the dancers.


	2. 2

She is the first to spot the party on their return. The first to spot  _ him,  _ rather; his is an impossible figure to miss. He brightens at her wave. Tired, of course, from the journey, and looking forward to a warm meal and a comfortable bed.

There are some familiar faces around him, though fewer than he left with. Still fighting, she hopes, not buried somewhere under bare soil. But no, the others would have seen to the proper rites. She smiles warmly and extends her hand as they meet again.

“Makon.”

“Athi.”

He remembers her name.

His palm is huge and calloused, his grip firm and brief but it feels too long. Not long enough.

“Camp’s not far,” she says and tears herself free and leads them homeward.


	3. 3

Makon’s magic is elegant. Like part of him, an effortless expression. The gaggle of children surrounding him marvel at his display and Athi feels silly for joining them, but  _ damn. _ She leans against the rough, choppy trunk of a dogwood, impressed and jealous in turns, watching plants she’s never seen sprout and grow and bloom and die again in the ground before him.

He sends the children away, chuckling at their enthusiasm. Stands and dusts off his knees, catches her eye and she nods.

“You put on quite a show, mountain man.”

“Thank you.” He glances around and ducks beneath a branch to come in close. “Something tells me they’ve not seen magic used for such frivolity.”

“Nope,” she admits. “Keeper’d have my head. If I could manage it in the first place.”

“Ah. May I ask why?”

Athi smirks. “Didn’t you know? Humans hate magic. Use it irresponsibly and they’ll come for you. Snatch you out of your bed in the middle of the night and cut off your ears and lock you away.”

He looks disturbed. “I am sorry. I forget how different our lives are.”

“They are that, but I was kidding,” she says with a grin. “Mostly.”

After a short silence, he places his hand on the bark a good two feet above her head. He looks down again, at her, and seems entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well, I hope your Keeper will not begrudge me one last indulgence.”

She’s waiting for him to explain when a subtle movement behind him draws her eye. All along the low-hanging branches, buds that weren’t there a moment ago unfold into tender white blossoms and Athi cranes her neck back to see the rest of the tree following suit. She laughs in surprise and reaches up to run her fingers through the leaves. It’s not an illusion. She has  _ so many questions,  _ about how does it work, and is it even useful, and will the tree still bloom when it’s supposed to, and as he bids her goodnight and walks away, she forgets them all.


	4. 4

_ Loop. Loop. Loop, and through. Loop. Loop. Loop, and through. _

She doesn’t realize how focused she is until a voice behind her snaps her back to reality.

“Beautiful work.”

It is deep and melodic and undoubtedly  _ his _ and Athi whirls her head around to make sure because he’s not supposed to be here for another month, but there he is. Standing behind her, tall and handsome as ever. She grins and jumps up and the half-woven basket tumbles from her lap to the ground, forgotten in her excitement.

She hugs him.

Tight.

When she realizes what she’s done, how close he is, she stiffens. Almost lets go, but he seems comfortable enough and they are friends after all—or something like it—and maybe it’s not so strange.

His low laugh rumbles within her. “I am glad to see you as well.”

Athi steps back and feels silly, tucks her hair behind her ear and shoves her hands deep into the pockets of her tunic.

“Sorry,” she says.

“Whatever for?”

“I don’t usually—nevermind. You’re early!”

“Indeed. I hope it does not put a strain on your clan’s goodwill, but the tasks which kept me homebound were completed sooner than expected, and the darkspawn have been subdued—at least for a time.” He picks her project up off the ground and dusts it off, running his thumb along the threads as he admires her handiwork. “I saw no cause for delay, and a boon of fair weather sped our journey southward.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to find somewhere to put you,” Athi says, folding her arms and pretending to think it over. “You don’t mind sharing with the halla, right?”

But she can’t keep a straight face.

Makon’s smile breaks when she does. He laughs, and to have caused it is an airy, delightful feeling. Then he holds up the basket. “Truly, this is remarkable. We have weavers, of course, but the style is quite different.”

“Thanks.” She takes it from him and sits back down. “If you’ve got time, I could teach you.”

She’s not sure why she says it, having never taught anybody anything before, and she’s sure he’ll decline. Sure he’ll need to settle in or find someone more important to inform of his arrival, but instead he takes a seat near hers in the sweet-smelling clover.

“Yes. If you are willing, I would like that very much.”


	5. 5

They leave tracks in the snow. Athi looks back and wonders if someone might wander this way and imagine them walking here, like this, or think the image too strange to be anything but happenstance. His large and hers little, parallel but dissonant. Like a bear and a fox— _they couldn’t have come here together._

She tries to follow in his for a time, erase hers entirely, but his strides are too great and she slips. He turns when she yelps, and laughs, and helps her back up, and brushes the snow from her hair. It is far better, anyway, to walk beside him.

“Have you— Are you— attached to anyone?” He says it out of nowhere.

“Not that I can see.”

By now he knows her well enough to roll his eyes. “Athi.”

Her insides go warm. “No, I haven’t and I’m not.”

 _Would you like to be?_ he’s supposed to say now. _As in, perhaps, to me?_

Then he’ll get bashful, and stammer, but the hard part is done. She’ll take his hand and say _yes_ and he’ll smile and kiss her and—

It’s one of her more overplayed scenarios, but it never gets farther than that. She doesn’t know what it feels like, doesn’t know what he’d do, doesn’t know what he wants. Doesn’t know what comes next. He can’t stay, after all, and she can’t go.

But all he says is “Oh,” as though he wasn’t the one to ask.

They are neither of them overly talkative, but the silence is usually less intentional. Less smothering and more space. But with his eyes straight ahead and his expression deep and stern, he looks lost in thought and she doesn’t wish to be a bother. They keep walking, parallel but disconnected.

“Are you?” she asks after a very long time. “Or have you?”

“No.”

This is not going well.

“Welcome to Nevarra,” Athi says as they pass through the tree line. Here, their tracks join dozens of others—littler, larger, criss-crossing errand-paths on unrelated journeys. “Almost there.”

“Excellent. This is a lengthier trek than I had anticipated.”

“It’ll be worth it.” She hopes, less sure of herself now than she was four hours ago.

Makon opens his mouth as if to respond, but then closes it again and keeps walking, wearing a private sort of smile. In his defense, she didn’t give him much information when she extended the invitation. And in hers, he didn’t bother to ask before accepting.

The ground rises and the wood along with it, making their slippery steps more dangerous, but the climb is why they came this way. That, and the bare hill at the top, which as they crest it is forgotten. And, most importantly, Makon’s soft appreciative sigh as he stops to take in the view. A sapphire blue lake lies below, frozen still and flat and gleaming, etched with fierce white streaks painted bold across its surface like a sky-god’s canvas. Nothing but a handful of fir trees mars its edges; the rest is an unbroken blanket of snow.

“Well?” she asks, and wraps her arm around his. “What’d I tell you?”

Makon smiles that same smile from before and looks down at her, warm as summer.

“It is not my intent to belittle such beauty, but”—he flusters, coughs, glances away, mutters the rest—“it was already worth it.”


	6. +1

He's right. He's terrible at goodbyes.

The first time he left, she was nothing to him and he said nothing to her. The second time he left, he and the others had gone before the sun had finished rising, and she had not even begun to consider it. This time, he was what—waiting her out? Hoping she wouldn’t notice he was missing?

No. This time, she wants more.

A lot more.

Athi sits down next to him. Despite the cool winter air, her palms burn in anticipation; she has to make absolutely certain her magic is pushed back, locked away, just in case. When she is sure, she reaches over. Half expects him to stop her, but he doesn’t. Eyes wide, he lets her guide him in nearer with the gentlest touch, like a halla left out to graze too long. Like he wants to go where she’s taking him. Like maybe he’s in as far as she is.

That’s a good sign, right?

“Fine,” she says against his mouth, steadier than she thought she’d be for getting this close. Though no one told her heartbeat, fluttering like a hummingbird. “No goodbye.”

So little distance between them, then with a tilt of her head there is none. Their lips meet and she feels his hesitation, feels him freeze and then melt, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. Solid, even through her coat. His skin is cold but he warms so, so quickly. Moves against her like water.

She could kiss him for days.

But a burst of chatter nearby reminds her they don’t have that kind of time. He can’t stay, and she can’t go. Unwilling, she pulls away.

Makon opens his eyes and veritably  _ beams  _ at her, and she wants to forget that fatalistic bullshit and kiss him all over again. But instead she pulls a strand of his hair through her fingers and grins at her success.

“Just… don’t be a stranger, mountain man.”

And she goes to help Deshanna with the chores.


End file.
